


Is It Cool If I Hold Your Hand?

by MamaCake



Series: Kiss It Better [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Dates, Cute, Developing Relationship, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Titles, M/M, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaCake/pseuds/MamaCake
Summary: Ratchet is grumpy. Drift is estatic. Rodimus is, well, Rodimus. As the medic prepares for their date, he stops to contemplate exactly what Drift sees in him.Silly fluff that happens on the LL just after the sparkeater incident.





	Is It Cool If I Hold Your Hand?

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't intending to write a follow up to my other one, but this stupid idea wouldn't leave me alone. I don't like it as much as my first one, and I really suck at portraying Rodimus but I hope you like it all the same. 
> 
> Thanks for the previous kudos and comments :)

The medbay was finally quiet again, and Ratchet ex-vented in relief, thankful to have some time to actually think. He'd spent the rest of the day after the morning's shenanigans taking inventory, cleaning and convincing Swerve that a tiny spot of rust wasn't actually a death sentence. The bartender was grateful enough to tell the medic next time he was at the bar, he could have a free drink. It was tempting, to go get a few glasses in before it was time for the movie in Rewind's and Chromedome's hab suite, just to make sure he could actually relax, but he decided a wash would be a better use of his time. He had to at least try and make an effort.

The truth was, even though he was flattered and pleased that he'd been considered as date material, he didn't understand what Drift saw in him. As he tried to pry open a bottle of wax, no harm in looking a little shinier after his battle with the wash rack, one of his hands seized again and he grunted in irritation. He was old, no one could deny that, and some things didn't work like they used to, plus no matter how much he swore at the wash rack that barely trickled on him or wrestled with the wax, there was no disguising the few scars that had stayed imprinted on his frame. He had to face the facts that however damaged the outside was, the inside was worse. Bad tempered and gruff and closed off, what exactly could he offer someone? And Drift had never been a stranger to his rough ways, in fact, he'd usually taken the worst of it.

Ex-venting, he considered cancelling altogether. If this didn't work out, it was going to make the rest of the trip pretty unbearable, and it wasn't exactly a short vacation to somewhere fun and relaxing, already it had turned out to be stressful and deadly. With a cry of frustration, he tried to throw the wax down onto his desk but his hand was too stubborn to let go. Just like the rest of him, he supposed.

It was the worst time for an interruption and an even worse mech to be doing it, but when he heard the jaunty knock on the door that could only be a certain captain, he went to open the door anyway, hoping maybe at least if the news came from a friend, it might be easier to bare. He barely had it open when, with a broad grin, Rodimus pushed past into the medbay and went immediately over to one of the overhead lights to look at his still slightly skeletal hands more closely.

“I gotta say, Ratchet, you are an artist, these are maybe even more beautiful than my face! Which says a lot.”

Ratchet closed the door with a kick as he tried to shake his hand loose, grunting in response. With a glance behind and a cocked orbital ridge, he continued.

“But… that's not the only reason I came aaaall this way.”

“It's not that far. And you could have just called.”

Finally his digits relaxed, and the bottle of wax was free. Resigned to cancelling on the evening he had planned, he threw the bottle back angrily into his desk drawer and then leant back against it to regard Rodimus. The captain was still enthralled by his hands, tinkling his fingers up in the air as if he were playing a piano and optics glittering in delight. When he was done, he placed his hands on his hips and took a few steps forward, grinning even broader now. 

“Ah. This is important. I thought maybe I'd better come shake your hand.”

“For…?”

“For making-... Have you washed?”

Rodimus’ grin suddenly turned wry and he tilted his helm, waiting for a response, but Ratchet wasn't dignifying him with an answer. He crossed his arms and furrowed his brow, clearing the static in his vocaliser to indicate he was waiting.

“Primus. Anyway, I want to shake your hand, for making my sometimes miserable, usually too serious, and always high and mighty wingman,  _ smile. _ ”

Ratchet felt his tanks drop. This wasn't what he was expecting when Rodimus had turned up at the medbay door. Maybe a complaint about his hands not being pretty enough to match the rest of him, or hiding from Ultra Magnus after ignoring his memos, or even coming to ask why Ratchet was never replied to his own memos. He needed to cut it short, quickly, and he pushed himself forward from the desk, unfolding his arms to hold out his hands in front of him, hoping to make this as peaceful as possible.

“Rodimus, just hang on-”

“At first I thought maybe he's thought he's had some kind of divine message from whoever he talks to in his processor, but then when he got all coy on me, I had to know.”

“Rodimus-”

“And then I managed to get it out of him, by telling him if he didn't tell me, then I'd let slip to Ultra Magnus he's been asking me for the answers to the little quizzes he sends him. I don't know if they're even right, I just make some scrap up.”

Ratchet finally broke, “will you listen for once in your life?!”

The smile slid off of the captain's face quicker than Prowl flipping a table. Cautiously, he let his arms drop and watched the medic carefully. His optics dived to the floor as he ex-vented, and then he turned to fiddle with something on his desk, unable to say what he wanted with those optics boring into him. It took him a few moments, before he managed to spit out the words.

“I need you to tell Drift… I'm cancelling.”

“Ha.  _ Ha ha ha _ . Yeah, that's not funny. I know comedy isn't your strongest point but that was just bad.”

“I'm serious, Rodimus. I can't.”

Suddenly, there was a small flicker of anger inside of the mech, when he imagined his friend's faceplate falling at the news, how crushed he would be underneath, even though he'd never tell anyone. He tried to smother it, plastering on his usual grin and bravado, and rolled his optics. He wasn't serious, he couldn't be serious.

“I don't think he cares if you're sick, he'll come here instead to hang out with you.”

“I'm… I'm not sick.”

“Then what is it? Don't like the movie? What's not to like about time travel and a funky retro car? Or, ah, let me guess, you don't know what to wear? Well, I guess you could find something better but hey, at least you washed.”

“I'm not going because I can't.”

“You can't?”

“No.”

The little flame ignited into rage, and Rodimus laughed without humour, his optics darkening and his fists clenching. He wasn't going to let him do this to Drift, not after everything he'd been through and how happy he'd been all day, and if he had to beat him senseless and drag him to the movie, he would. With a few steps forward, he closed the gap between them and spoke calmly and quietly.

“Okay, listen pal, Drift has been happy, for the first time in a looong time, because for some reason unbeknownst to me, he sees something in you that he likes, and he finally works the courage to ask you out, and you said yeah, and now you're saying hmm maybe not I've got better things to do?”

“I don't have to explain to you, I just want you to pass on the damn message.”

“You pass your own messages on, I'm  _ captain _ , not a fragging comms device.”

“At least from you, it'd be easier on him.”

Rodimus brought his hands up behind his helm, because he was sure he was going to break them if he carried on clenching them the way he was. He wanted to say, a lot of things, probably things that would mean if he ever needed new hands again, Ratchet would either refuse or make him look like Whirl, and no one wanted to look like that, even Whirl himself. Instead, he bit his glossa, literally, until he could come up with something more reasonable. He settled for a giant guilt trip.

“Fine. I'll go back to him, and tell him, sorry buddy, I know this made your day, your  _ week _ , but Ratchet told me to tell you he's cancelling. No reason why, other than he  _ can't,  _ which to me sounds like you're not good enough, so you're better off without, let's go hit Swerve's and when he's recharging, we'll glue him to his chair.”

With a dramatic huff, he started towards the door, trying to think about what he would actually say, when Ratchet threw him a curve ball.

“No, you're right. He is better off without me. That's why I'm cancelling.”

Slowly, Rodimus turned back, “what? What are you on about?”

“Drift could do better, and no, that's not me being self pitying or hoping you'll convince me otherwise, it's just fact. I'm old, and I'm stubborn and bad tempered and… what does he even see in me?”

“You're asking the wrong mech. I agree with you, apart from the being self pitying part.” He ignored the look he was given, “You  _ are _ being self pitying, instead of just taking it and Primus forbid, just enjoying it, you're sat in here feeling sad because you're old and creaky and grumpy. Whatever it is he sees in you, just accept it, rather than break his spark.”

Ratchet pulled out his chair and collapsed down into it. He wasn't sure what was worse, Rodimus telling him off like he was a naughty sparkling or the fact he was right, mostly. He and Drift were firm friends, and if anyone knew how his processor worked, even just a little, it would be Rodimus. But there was jealousy there too, when he looked at the younger mech, how sure he was of himself and his gleaming, fully functioning frame, and there was the friendship he had with Drift too. For reasons he couldn't explain, he wanted that closeness, he wanted to be the one there to understand how his processor worked.

The discussion was over, and Rodimus had a few parting, angry words to leave him with as he strolled over to the door, wrenching it open and pointing aggressively.

“You do what you want, but I'm not being your messenger boy.”

And as the door slammed with finality, Ratchet rubbed his faceplate with his hands, the hands that reminded him that he was old and creaky. He needed to make a decision and with only a short while before the movie started, he needed to make it quickly. 

 

* * *

 

Drift nervously wrung his hands together, in absence of his weapons, he had nothing else to fidget with, and he glanced both ways down the corridor where he was waiting outside the hab suite. There was loud chatter from within, as the others waited.

He’d asked Rodimus if he wondered if it was rude to show up fully armed, but his friend had merely shrugged from where he was doodling across his desk, a sour expression upon his faceplate. When he'd asked what was wrong, Rodimus pulled his usual trick and beamed brightly, and told him not to worry, to go enjoy himself, and to call if he needed anything. He'd really emphasized the anything part. Drift had still worried.

He'd been waiting for some time, he hated to be late for anything, especially something as important as this, and he was growing tired of the way his tanks rolled every time he caught a frame rounding the corner, or opening a door, and the nervous hum of his spark. He shifted his feet and leaned back against the wall, trying to block out the thought that wanted to invade his processor, in the voice that sounded like Deadlock sneering at him.

_ He's not coming. _

“Drift,” Chromedome hung out the door, “you coming? We're starting, Rewind gets  _ super _ grumpy if he misses his bedtime.”

“Domey, I heard that!”

“Uh, yeah. Just let me make this call and I'll be in.”

The other mech disappeared with a thumbs up and he heard the raucous laughter from within, but he couldn't smile, even as he heard Rewind shouting at Whirl for tripping up his friend. He'd been drained of the glee that had warmed him inside all day, and instead it was replaced with a block of ice frozen around his spark. Angrily, he went to make a Comms call to Ratchet, even if he didn't answer he could leave a message to tell him exactly what he thought of him, but he was interrupted yet again.

“I thought you might have given up waiting. Sorry.”

A bottle of his favourite high grade energon was flung towards his chest, and he grabbed it quickly before he could drop it, awkwardly brushing his digits against Ratchet's. When he glanced up at the other mech, he averted his gaze away and lifted his hands placatingly. There was a slight smile on his faceplate and at least he had the decency to look a little bit embarrassed by his lateness.  

“Damn hands, got stuck on the door as I opened it. Might have been there forever until I saw Ultra Magnus coming, no one wants to hear a lecture on loitering, and even my stubborn hands didn't want to hang around for that.”

Unsure how exactly he was feeling, his emotions suddenly having clashed together and stuck there, Drift laughed nervously and looked down at the bottle he held. He was impressed, not even Rodimus knew his favourite, so surely Ratchet had gone to ask the only one who did know, and then acquired a bottle, even though it was hard to distill.

He lifted the bottle, “how did you get this?”

“Swerve owed me one. And I owed you one, for… giving a grumpy old mech like me a chance.”

Ratchet watched as the other mech shifted, almost shyly, and inwardly cursed himself for nearly being so stupid as to throw this moment away, but he cursed Rodimus even more for being right. He hoped that his favourite bottle he'd asked Swerve to set aside was enough to placate the captain, so he wouldn't have to endure any sing song _I told you so!_ Primus forbid his ego getting any bigger.

He held out a hand and nodded towards the door, spark thrumming hard as Drift grasped it lightly, and pulled in the opposite direction. Ratchet tilted his helm questioningly.

“I thought we were seeing a movie?”

Drift's optics twinkled mischievously and he proffered the bottle he held in his other hand.

“I'm not sharing this with that lot,” he grinned, “plus, Swerve's will be empty now, we can have the place to ourselves and talk.”

And so Ratchet let himself be led along to the deserted bar, watching Drift carefully hop up onto a bar stool and lean over to grab some glasses. The medic averted his gaze, chastising himself inwardly for being inappropriate, and took the stool next to him. Jittery with nerves, he managed to spill a little of the liquid Drift had just poured for him and the other mech quirked an orbital ridge.

“You don't do dates, huh?”

“The last mech I… was involved in, we kind of just got angry at each other and then… well, it doesn't matter.” 

Drift cradled his glass in both hands, looking down into the purple liquid as he swirled it slightly and nodded matter of factly. The silence between them stretched on, bordering on uncomfortable, until Drift thought of something that made him laugh.

“What?”

“I don't even really like movies.”

Ratchet turned on his stool, “then why ask me?”

“Because I panicked, okay? I was originally going to ask-  _ stop laughing. _ ”

“Okay, sorry,” but he was smiling, “you panicked?”

“Well, yeah, you never know if when you enter your medbay if you'll come out alive or not, and that's just from  _ talking _ to the medic.”

“Ha. Funny. You're lucky I haven't had to treat you yet.”

Drift suddenly went quiet, and Ratchet thought maybe he'd said something wrong. Cautiously, he slipped a hand across the bar to nudge his digits against where the other mech had his around his drink. There was no hesitation and Drift took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. It didn't help how flustered Ratchet felt, this wasn’t what he was used to, it was all rough words and even tougher touches, and he pushed thoughts of the other mech away. He wasn't welcome here where this was more than just attraction.

“Something wrong?”

And suddenly Drift grinned, “just wondering if you ever needed to treat me, if you'd kiss  _ me _ better?”

Ratchet regretted taking a sip of his drink as he spluttered it back into the glass, Drift suddenly helpless beside him and the laughter was sweet for him to hear. Maybe part of the reason Ratchet wanted him so bad, was because his history was painful and traumatic, for everyone involved, and he wanted to fix that. He didn't want him to broken anymore.

As the medic made sure he hadn't splashed any down the front of his clean frame, out of nowhere he was hit by a fresh flurry of emotions as Drift lay his helm onto his shoulder and ex-vented.

“What's the matter?”

“I don't know, this just feels strange.”

“Well, thanks.”

“No, not… I meant, out here aboard the Lost Light. Okay so everyone still sees a Con everywhere I go but maybe this is the closest I've been to happiness in a long time.”

Ratchet felt another pang of guilt ricochet around his chest. If he had cancelled then maybe the mech would still be here, but on his own, drowning his sorrows. Part of him wanted to admit that he'd had reservations, because he hated to be dishonest, but the sensible part of him, not fueled by emotion, told him that it was better to keep quiet. Instead he thought back to what Drift had begun to say and never finished.

“What were you going to ask me? Instead of going to movie night?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

He watched as Drift turned to face him with a seriousness in his optics he saw too often, and he braced himself for what he was about to hear. Nervously the other mech swirled the liquid in his glass before he spoke quickly.

“I wanted to ask if you forgive me for the past.”

Ratchet raised an optic ridge, “that's a bit different to asking for a date.”

“I know, but it was tearing me up inside and I didn't want to do this,” he gestured between them, “if you were only going to think about everything from back then.”

“Ah. Now I get it.”

“Get what?”

Worriedly, Drift furrowed his brow, subconsciously gripping the hand in his tighter. Ratchet swivelled his own chair around so he could face him, their knees now nearly touching and their clasped hands stretching across their laps. With a wry grin, he replied.

“Why you'd want an old mech like me. You were hoping maybe I'd forgotten everything in my old age?”

Drift laughed, “you're not that old, and besides, no, that's not why.”

“So why then?”

“Answer my question and I'll answer yours.”

“Fine,” Ratchet grew serious, “I think we're all past forgiveness right? But I'm past holding grudges too. When I look at you, I see now, not what used to be.”

Drift grew quiet again, dodging his optics down and so tentatively, Ratchet let go of his drink to nudge his helm up to meet his gaze once again. His spark jumped in his chest as he thought about what he was going to do, but he ignored it and did it anyway. Softly, he brushed his lips, closing his optics and sneaking his hand around the back of Drift's helm to bring him closer. Gently, he reciprocated and lust ignited inside of him, and suddenly he was kissing Ratchet hungrily, letting go of his hand so he could grasp his helm back.

Neither of them wanted to stop, but Ratchet felt himself nearly pitch backward and turned his helm, breaking free. They were both venting hard, and as the medic laughed about nearly falling back, Drift smiled coyly and leant forward to rest his helm against Ratchet's.

“Go on then, why an old mech like me?”

He spoke softly, the voice he usually reserved for bad news of the worst kind, but Drift liked it, this softer side to him. He was hoping he wasn't about to see the rougher side with what he was going to say.

“I've heard, from a lot of your patients, you're good at kissing.”

Ratchet rolled his optics and pulled away, but there was a smirk there. He grabbed his glass and downed the rest of the drink, he was done with talking. Drift was surprised and panic flashed through him as he wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. He jumped off the stool to face the other mech, helm tilted and optics shiny with worry.

“Sorry, I just-”

Ratchet nodded to the door, “come on, I'll show you what else I'm good at.”

Drift's optics went wide and he dropped his helm shyly. He grabbed the bottle off of the bar and drank the last of his drink to stop his hands from shaking. He was glad that he'd decided to drop by the medbay that morning, and he was eternally grateful to Rodimus for his off hand  _ do what makes you happy _ remark that had got him thinking in the first place. In fact, as he joined Ratchet and wriggled an arm around his back, he thought he better send him a gift. There was a gentle kiss against his helm and he grinned, but that could wait, there were more important things right now, ones that his spark had been waiting for, for a long time.

 

* * *

 

Rodimus was sat at his desk, pretending to read through Ultra Magnus’ memos after he'd cornered him early that morning asking if he'd memorised the amendments to the rules for the angle at which name plaques should be displayed at, but instead he was watching videos of humans falling over and hurting themselves in various ways, sound turned off just in case someone came in. Someone who didn't take rules lightly. 

There was a knock on the door, and he rolled his optics and opened the relentless memo, typed and spaced to perfection, and signed, in its usual way. He crossed his feet where they were propped up on his desk and ex-vented dramatically at the intrusion.

“Yeah?”

Swerve appeared at the door, poking his visor through first and then giving Rodimus a grin.

“Am I disturbing you boss?”

“Yeah,” he huffed, “I have tonnes of important work to do Swerve, so unless it's life altering,  _ my _ life, then can we keep it brief.”

“Yeah, sure, I only have a delivery for you.”

“Delivery?” Rodimus blinked hard, “from who?”

Swerve stepped into the room, holding his delivery behind his back until he held out the bottle of engex with a flourish and a grin. 

“Well this one, I was threatened with my glossa being cut out if I told you, so that narrows it down.”

With a cocked orbital ridge, Rodimus sprung from his desk and took the present, a grin spreading along his features.

“Sweet, my favourite,” he regarded Swerve, “tell Ratchet thanks.”

Swerve's faceplate dropped, “you're not supposed to know!”

But Rodimus was trying to lean around to where the smaller mech still held something behind his back, whilst he waved the other hand in front of him manically.

“Okay, okay. What else you got? And who from?”

“Oh, this one, well he said you'd know who it was.”

He produced a small box, and juggling the bottle under his arm, Rodimus took it eagerly, his grin spreading further as he saw the energon goodies inside. He immediately knew Drift had sent this one, because he'd already received a message from him early on in the morning to say thank you, and he was confused as to why. At least now he knew why. Rodimus just hoped his friend was still good for duty this morning, and not too worn out. 

“Awesome. Thanks Swerve, you make a good delivery boy.”

Swerve furrowed his brow, “and bartender?”

“The best.”

Placing his gifts down, Rodimus clicked his digits at him and winked, and finally Swerve was satisfied. As he shuffled to the door, his duty fulfilled, curiosity got the better of him and he turned back, tilting his helm. 

“What are they for? The gifts?”

The captain had already settled himself back at his desk, opening his datapad to the video again and throwing a handful of goodies into his mouth. He met Swerve's gaze and smiled, swallowing down the treats.

“Let's just say, if you need advice on your love life, I'm your mech.”


End file.
